Page 83
Swaying, I stay tucked against the ghost of him.
Chapter Twenty
The Chickens
‘What is she doing?’
‘I think… it’s some sort of travelling troupe?’
‘There is no way they have enough discipline for that.’
All three of them are sat in a line, heads tilted at the makeshift stage I’ve poured my blood, sweat and tears into.
I interlock my fingers in front of my chest and address our audience. ‘I’ve consulted with the dark forces of the forest, and they have revealed to me that the chickens are depressed.’
‘Mill-er!’ Lavender breaks my name in half, in a tone that argues my life’s work’s importance.
Walker says nothing, but that’s definitely intrigue I’m reading on his features.
‘I’m not staying here for this,’ Delilah says. She gets to her feet.
‘Sit down! They have been working extremely hard! And so have I, damnit!’ I scream. Okay. A little unhinged. Dial it back, Miller. Just because you didn’t sleep last night, doesn’t mean everyone’s enemy number one.
‘Have you been fucking with her coffee again?’ Lavender accuses.
‘No,’ Walker defends.
Lavender leans into him and whispers, ‘Maybe you should.’
‘Touch my motherfucking coffee and die,’ I threaten. So much for dialling back. We all pause.
‘Can’t kill what’s already dead,’ Delilah reasons with Walker.
Walker makes a show of consideration, but when he looks at me, he scrunches his nose and shakes his head discreetly. I sigh and smile. I smigh.
That’s the extent of his patience. ‘Get on with it,’ he prompts. Right.
‘Without further ado, I present to you the Filthy Fowl, performing their adapted rendition: “Peck me chicklet one more time”.’
I wink at Walker. He’s gonna love this.
I run off the stage and hit play. Raw funk and unadulterated sex-appeal struts onto the stage in fishnet stockings and a who-gives-a-fuck attitude. These chickens were born to dance.
Heads peck in rhythmic unison to the beat. The chickens make six rows of uniform lines that part down the centre in preparation for my star clucker.
A snow-white chicken with a head full of fluff but a heart full of possession struts her stuff down the middle. Skirt swaying in time with her drumsticks.
Silkie ain’t just her breed, it’s her lifestyle.
‘WOO! Go Silk! You’re a queen! Get it, hen!’
The others are looking at me like I’m insane. Well – I think they’re boring. I’m clicking and swaying. I’m having a good time. But also – I have a job to do. I’m here as the hype girl. My job is to hype the chickens, and that’s not a position I take lightly. I’m not embarrassed no, matter how many of my close companions look at me as if I need my head checked.
Oh! She’s starting.
‘Bok, bok, bok.’
Oop. Little pitchy. That’s okay. ‘Lock in, Silk.’ I cup around my mouth to raise my voice over the music.
